The Figaro of Florence
In his study of Italian Renaissance art, the writer who went by the name Stendhal relates the following story, which he suggests was the inspiration for The Barber of Seville, by Beaumarchais, as well as by other playwrights, and which has become an established theme of dramatic comedy.
...Around the year 1563, Pietro Buonaventuri, a young, amiable, but penniless Florentine, left his homeland to seek a better life. He arrived in Venice, at the home of a local merchant, whose house was located by fate in the alleyway of the Capello Palace, the facade of which overlooked the canal. At that time, the only gossip of the city was over the beauty of Bianca, the daughter of the master of this palace, and the severity with which she was guarded. Bianca could not, under any circumstances, appear at the windows overlooking the canal. She resorted to getting a little fresh air every evening at a small, very high window, which overlooked the narrow passage which was inhabited by Buonaventuri. He saw her and fell in love with her; but what chance was there of making her love him? He was but a humble tradesman, claiming the heart of a lady of the highest nobility and, moreover, the most sought-after in Venice! He vowed to renounce the impossible desire, but love always brought him back beneath the little window. One of his friends, seeing him in despair, remonstrated with him that it was better to die for passion than perish for nothing; and, moreover, with his own good looks, and his father's virtue, making his passion known would perhaps be prudent. Thus, by dint of covert signs, when no one was in the street, he signaled his love, but may not so much as think of entering the house of one of the greatest of men of Venice. As in the Orient, the detection would have been punished by death, perhaps for both of the two lovers. Necessity made them devise a code. The noble beauty agreed to obtain the key to a small, side door that opened onto the street, and to arrange a rendezvous with the dashing young man, a bold move that could only take place at night, while the palace slept. The first rendezvous was repeated, with the result one might imagine. It became Bianca's custom to go out every night, leaving the door slightly ajar, returning before daybreak. Once, she fell asleep in the arms of her lover. A baker's boy, who was going early that morning with bread for a neighboring house, and seeing a half-open door, thought it best to pull it shut. Bianca, moments later, saw all was lost. She made an instant decision, and went back to Buonaventuri's house, and knocked gently. He opened the door. She told him that death was certain for her. Their fate become shared, they ran to seek asylum from a wealthy Florentine merchant, who was well established in another part of Venice. Daylight had broken, the immediate danger was over, and luckily leaving no trace of their escape which could betray them. The hard part was to get out of Venice. Bianca's father, and especially her uncle Grimani, Patriarch of Aquileia, erupted in the most violent indignation; they accused the entire body of the Venetian nobility of conspiracy. Ten thousand spies, among the most cunning in the world, vied for the reward of two thousand ducats. Twenty times they were on the verge of being captured. Finally, by stowing-away on a boat loaded with hay, they evaded detection, and were able to reach Florence. There, in a little house that Buonaventuri rented on the Via Larga, they kept well hidden. Bianca never went out. Buonaventuri himself only ventured out well armed. It was precisely at this time that old Cosimo I, disgusted with the life of dissembling and perfidy that had marked his reign, had left the care of the government to his son, Francis, a prince of even darker and more stern character. A favorite came to tell him that in a small house in his capital lived hidden this Lady Bianca whose beauty and singular disappearance had caused such an uproar in Venice. From that moment on, Francis's imagination was inflamed. Each day he could be seen going for hours on end in the Via Larga. Bianca never went out, except to appear in the evening at her balcony. Once, at that hour, she was espied by Prince Francis. Charmed by this first encounter, he hoped for more. Bianca now had a new suitor. Their conversation turned to the danger that could be incurred by the revenge of his jealous father, of which he gave many cruel examples. Finally, she was asked if she would not be so bold as to openly pay court to the crown prince, who, having at last seen her, could not help admiring her many charms, and her courtesy in paying him her respects. Bianca was still troubled. It was a dangerous scheme that, at the same time might put an end to all fears, and yet, although she affected timidity, the lady thought she saw in the prince's eyes that he would defend her.
More such episodes follow; and, throughout, Buonaventuri never so much as gives a thought to breaking-off relationships that could be both virtuous and beneficial.